Where South China waters churn heavy and wide,
A widow rose up with the ocean's own tide.
No emperor’s decree could govern her hand,
She ruled forty thousand across sea and land.
Her laws were of iron, her word absolute—
No plunder unshared, and no thief with his loot.
With hundreds of junks bearing canvas of red,
The empires of Europe beheld her with dread.
The Qing and the Portuguese launched their attack,
Yet her fleet in the bay drove the battle-line back.
She outfought the crown and she outmaneuvered the state,
Till they offered her peace at the emperor's gate.
She surrendered her sails, but retained all her gold,
A pirate supreme who grew peaceful and old.
Though dynasties crumbled and admirals fell,
The terror of Canton lives on in the swell.
Years ago, my aunt developed mesothelioma. She and her husband did not have money for medical care. It was a Jewish hospital that took her in, and helped her through her last days free of charge.
The Jews have built many hospitals, made contributions to many charities, and established many foundations. The list is endless.
Jews have been instrumental in government and finance. They have served in our American armed forces from recruits to high level generals and admirals.
I have never seen a Jew burn an American flag.
I have never heard of a Jew cry out for his God while assaulting a woman.
Jews take their God seriously, and are respectful In prayer.
Jews are good pet owners. Many Jews own cats and/or dogs. Jews recognize dogs as one of God's gifts to all of us.
Jews endure a lot of hate and bullying, yet they stay strong.
It rained for 3 days,
drenching torrents plunged down
as if a dam had breached.
There was some local flooding
but by and large only minor damage
a lot of litter and flotsam though
‘sky wreckage’ some called it.
The butterfly house was swamped,
its netted walls were ripped ragged
by broken tree limbs,
the seams in the wooden roof
split apart and a wild,
wind-riding rain rode in.
Purple Admirals were beaten down
by the gusting blows,
then drowned.
Painted Ladies were murdered
their mangled decorative forms
no longer cosmetics.
Longwings no longer flew
but in death, swam limply
in the splashing puddles.
A disarray of broken wings
carpeted the deluged floor.
Somewhere in this caged house
sodden chrysalids sway upon fractured twigs;
eventually there will be fluttering wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
were the air still drips wetly
onto unreceiving
and unmoving antennae.
They slip in unnoticed
just below the burning rays of the sun solstice
lighting on the last flowers of summer bare,
sweet nectar wafting in the heavy laden air,
colors brilliant, glowing, coy
orange black monarchs and viceroys,
great spangled fritillary yellows and whites,
tiger swallowtails in yellow black stripes,
California sisters, red admirals, blues, skippers,
silent and stealth like they come on windy clippers
floating and flittering in mid-August dance,
waltzing on the warm light breeze tree branch,
eye-catching, dainty lace winged soarers,
quick and slow in flight flutterers scorers,
enticed by flowered whispers between thorn and nettles
painted ladies hovering in place on petals
mourning cloakers, dark gray stokers with blended color palettes,
rudders navigating windy turns and landings on salads,
southern dogfaces heading south in transition
migratory lives gathering in submission
to climatic phenomena seen on the window pane
tempered by the sun, the surf, and rain
waving goodbye to the northern lights
hello to the southern fields and forests cool nights.
Floating, adrift in icy water; like discarded driftwood
(his Commander, Warrand, bravely stepped aside to let him pass)
the sole survivor so thought Ted; of the proud and mighty Hood.
Then came Bill, and Bob, three, from one thousand four hundred eighteen
ripped and torn apart from Admirals to seamen second class.
Brave souls all, who crossed the bar that day, a crew, a brotherhood
through a flaw in Hood's design. They knew; The Royal Navy brass.
Just before 06:00 on 24th May 1941, HMS Hood was struck by several German shells, exploded, and sank within 3 minutes, with the loss of all but three of her crew of 1418; Midshipman William Dundas, Able Seaman Bob Tilburn, and Ordinary Signalman Ted Briggs. The British Admiralty was aware of her vulnerable deck armour
Julyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: William Kekaula Placed 3rd.
Date wrote: 23-July-2021
Wings in puddles.
There must have been a leak,
and in the sky nothing fly’s
but a crippled gale,
it limps now, yet howls still
from the far side of lost town.
Wind-drones moan in bare trees
sky wreckage litters.
Dead Purple Admirals
have gone down in rainy heaps.
Painted Ladies rest forever.
Longwings no longer sail,
for the roaming Yellow Swallow Tail
It is trails end.
Who broke the netting and the roof?
What dashed all
upon a fluttering flood?
Was it the piratical gulls?
No, like this emptying daylight
they have been flung into hiding.
Somewhere in this arboretum
new chrysalids sway on twigs,
soon there will be wings,
but not here in this ruined shelter
wear the air drips wetly
as if with tears.
Oh, smile you devious angels, smile
Smile like the devil never touched your sins
Wash your guilt and pleasures with
Your name, your brand, your kin
Cross your arms and squint your eyes
Look down upon your sheeps
Count our hairs and sins and lies
Immortalize your perfected grins
Oh, bash our hearts and judge our heads
We see you smartling, dear
We see you so beautiful, refined and skilled
Who dare amount to what you are?
Not us insipid mortal things
Look down on us you plastic angel fyres
Go ahead, call me your many things
For I am "not" afraid after all
Of being hailed, crowned- a darkling
In a battleship war
Admirals looked for advantage
The best position be in
Is to cross the T
When the enemy is inline
Steaming towards you
Your battleships should be
In front of the first enemy ship
And steaming across the enemy’s line
This means all your guns can fire
On the first enemy ship in line
And blow it out of the water.
© Paul Warren Poetry
in mass-produced photographs leaking
oils and plastics into oceans eternally
churning secret species speaking sonar
beyond the corridor of human tongues
awaiting arrivals admirals of slaughter promulgate
fading flags of kings and queens aging on God’s throne
as veins rise to the surface and lines on maps bulge winds
direct tyrannies toward destinations cultivated by natives
beholding prophecies piercing membranes of skylines
families gather in gluttonous homes quiet as guilt
consuming bounties bound in card-board consumed
by glowing signals processing visions of impotence
and incompetence revealing its radiating birthmark
shaped like a deformed diamond vapid as brutality
Like petite Picasso's on the wing
little paintings flying by
A prima ballerina dancing in the sky.
Butterflies are beauty on the wing.
they personify natures perplexity to please
pretty as any picture as they fly in the sky .
Perfect little flying pictures.
Picking nectar from peony's
and performing pirouette's in the sky .
Admirals without navy's
Tortoises without shells
and even painted lady's , all performing in the sky
It's just a kaleidoscope of butterflies , flying in the sky.
In summer my garden comes alive
as graceful butterflies make it home.
Peacocks with vivid colours flit
from blossom to blossom
Busily working gathering nectar
pollinating as they go on to next
flower. All so pretty I love them all
visiting my climbing rambling roses.
Red Admirals, Swallow tails and monarchs
adding swathes of brilliant colour
chased by Skippers and Orange tips
as each one vies for one more bloom.
While Gatekeepers and Clouded Yellows
delicately sip from my hibiscus.
A cloud of Fritillary's descend on stocks
and Painted Ladies mock the sweet peas.
A drone of bumble bees sets the tune
for Tortoiseshells to dance to.
Purple Emperors set the scene
as they visit my asters and begonia's.
Ah! sweet summer flowers, all
are kissed by Comma's and Coppers
bringing my garden to life
with joy as they all busily work
written 08/12/2015
contest Skat's Butterflies
The Admiral’s Sun 5th draft – 6-11-2014
A pedestal for your glory and the ego’s your command,
your shadow darkens the people you demand.
Your rusting medals are demanding a respect,
beyond the value of those you do neglect.
The world is learning to shun this bloody valor,
well past due for society’s defining hour.
Beyond your limitations you dared not tread,
your father’s path repeated with dread.
Higher thinking would have polished your crown,
surpassing the gleam that soon finds the ground
Senility and death are your only companions now,
emptiness your spouse and still she does frown.
Michael G. Eggert, March-April, 2014, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Bees seeking nectar
Red Admirals fluttering
Weekends to relax
Oh that I could break the chime that addles my brain constantly
That implanted seed of rhyme that worms in my subconscious
That causes me to live and dream in my restrictive literary world
Courted by couplets with ballad intoning in the near back ground
I hear the thoughts of betters that advise me to divorce my love
Perhaps I will beg my vowels and consonants to free me for a time
To let my mind flutter like red admirals on blossom filled buddleia
With the promise that I will return with gifts from afar to share
That I will gather my love in sweet nectar scented embraces
To assure them that I will always return to childhood friends
Freedom freely given will strengthen our knowledge and ability
Will let be seen that which hitherto was the domain of others
In the dead of night
Some years ago
A metamorphose transpired
Under full moon glow
A lady in black
In graveyard mist
Danced with the crows
In evolutionary twist
Her presence was surrounded
By luminous flows
Larva's were being shed
In dark butterfly grow
Her black dress becomes discarded
Shape-shifting in the dead of night
Red Admirals flutter
In demonic delight
They become butterfly winged elves
Patiently awaiting
To our moon our orb
Anticipating in taking
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/fantasy.php
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